Page 49 of Thor

"I don't want to dance around this, Mandy. It’s not my style," Thor continued, his voice dropped low for my ears only. The sounds of the busy bar faded to background noise as I focused entirely on his words.

"I want to be your Daddy. Your protector. Your safe place." His blue eyes held mine, unwavering and earnest. "I want to hold you when you're small and stand beside you when you're conquering the world. I want all of you—the accountant, the Little, and everything in between."

Tears pricked at my eyes, hot and unexpected.

No one had ever offered me this before.

"Yes," I whispered, my voice stronger than I expected. "I want that too. I want to be yours."

Thor's smile transformed his usually serious face, lighting his eyes and softening the hard angles of his features. It was like watching the sun break through storm clouds—unexpected and all the more beautiful for its rarity.

He leaned across the table, one large hand coming up to cup my cheek. Around us, the bar continued its rowdy Friday night chaos, but in our corner, time seemed to suspend.

"Sure about this?" he asked, giving me one last chance to reconsider. "Once I claim you properly, everyone will know. No going back."

I nodded, beyond words. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to belong to this man who saw all of me and found value in every part.

Thor's kiss was gentle, almost reverent—a stark contrast to the heated exchange in his kitchen earlier. This wasn't about passion or desire, though those undercurrents remained. This was a promise, a sealing of our agreement.

When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with emotion. "My good girl," he murmured against my lips, his voice a rough caress.

The simple praise seeped into me like warm honey, settling in places that had been cold and empty for so long. Two sides of me—professional Amanda and little Mandy—both glowed under his approval. For the first time, I didn't feel torn between my different needs and desires. With Thor, I could be whole.

"So what now?" I asked, my voice slightly shaky.

“Now . . . we need a contract.”

Chapter 9

Thor

Istoodintheprivateoffice above Crowns, hands fidgeting with the stack of papers I'd been arranging and rearranging for twenty minutes straight. My fingers felt clumsy—an alien sensation for a man who could strip and reassemble a Glock blindfolded. The leather cut on my shoulders seemed suddenly heavier, like it was questioning what the hell its wearer was doing preparing a DDLG contract instead of busting heads or patrolling territory. But this mattered more than any club business ever had.

The mid-afternoon quiet of the club settled around me like a blanket. Crowns wouldn't open to the public for hours, but I could hear the occasional clink of bottles and thump of speaker tests as staff prepared downstairs. The office itself smelled of leather, polished wood, and the faint trace of Duke's preferred whiskey—a space designed to intimidate business associates while impressing legitimate partners. The mahogany conference table gleamed beneath the carefully arranged documents, each page representing a piece of the relationship I wanted to build with Mandy.

I checked my watch again. Thirty minutes until she'd arrive. My stomach clenched in a way that hadn't happened since my prospecting days with the Heavy Kings.

The contract had taken me days to put together. I'd drawn from my own experience in the lifestyle and researched extensively, determined to create something comprehensive yet flexible. Each section had been carefully crafted: roles and expectations, rules, rewards, punishments, boundaries and limits, aftercare protocols. It wasn't just about dominance and submission—it was a blueprint for trust.

Duke, of course, had helped.

Telling Duke had been its own special kind of hell. As Sergeant-at-Arms, I'd faced down rival MCs without flinching, but admitting to my president that I needed advice on a DDLG relationship had twisted my guts into knots. I'd expected judgment or at least surprise—what I hadn't expected was Duke's immediate understanding.

"About fucking time you found someone worth the effort," he'd said, clapping me on the shoulder before offering not just the club's private space for the contract negotiation, but his personal assistance as well.

Obviously, I knew that he and Mia shared a DDlg dynamic. Maybe I shouldn’t have been worried about telling him. But sometimes, rational thought lost out to worry.

I smoothed down my beard, a nervous habit I thought I'd abandoned years ago. The tough biker with Norse warrior tattoos and a reputation for violence, fretting over paperwork like a damn lawyer. The irony wasn't lost on me.

My reflection in the window showed a man at odds with himself—leather cut, tattoos, and the hard lines of a life lived rough contrasting with the uncertainty in my eyes. Below, the empty dance floor of Crowns stretched out, the crystal chandeliers hanging still and silent. The club was a new venture, and it had been a shrewd move by Duke. This place attracted a different clientele than our usual haunts, bringing in money without the constant hassle of bar fights and police attention. Legitimate business.

The weight of what I was attempting settled deeper. This wasn't just about sex or kink—although that was part of it—it was about building something real with a woman who saw past the patches and reputation to the man beneath.

Footsteps in the hallway pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned as the door opened. Duke entered first, his commanding presence filling the room without effort. Even in casual clothes—dark jeans and a gray button-down—he carried himself with the authority that had made him a respected president.

Mia followed him, petite beside his bulk, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. Diesel padded silently at her heels, the German Shepherd's alert eyes scanning the room before settling on me with quiet acceptance. The dog had become as much a fixture at club gatherings as any patched member, his protective instincts toward Mia something we all respected.

"Nervous, brother?" Duke asked, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he took in the meticulously arranged papers and my obvious restlessness.

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